


Winter Screwed

by PorcupineGirl



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Winter Screw (Check Please!)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-11 13:37:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20547047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PorcupineGirl/pseuds/PorcupineGirl
Summary: Under normal circumstances, Eric would be thrilled that Ransom and Holster managed to find him a cute English rugby player as his Screw date.But the circumstances he happens to be in involve, among other things, spending the evening watching Jack having fun with his scantily-clad date, so he's a little distracted. Especially by the fact that he's distracting Jack a little, too.





	Winter Screwed

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a quick lil thing that miiiiiiight get a quick lil sequel - if I can get my lesson plans for next week finished first!

The doorbell rings, and Eric puts the last finishing touches on his hair. It must be his date; Ransom, Holster, and Jack have already gone downstairs to meet theirs, and Shitty and Lardo are "going stag together" (as if anyone believes either of them really doesn't want to go together).

"BITS!" Holster's voice booms up the stairwell as Eric leaves his room. "ANDREW'S HERE!"

Andrew. Andrew from England, who is on the rugby team. Whom he let Ransom and Holster find as his Winter Screw date, despite previous proof of their terrible taste. Eric sighs and heads downstairs.

To his surprise, Andrew is cute, well-dressed, and extremely polite. He gives Eric a charming smile as they shake hands, and says "Lovely to meet you" in his equally-charming accent.

After the brief greeting, Eric is spared the responsibility of further conversation by the fact that his date was the last to arrive and, therefore, it's time for group photos. He's not sure this is really a night he'll want to commemorate in the future, but it is a night out with his friends, so that's reason enough for him to smile brightly as he holds Andrew's elbow.

He glances at Camilla as they break apart, at Jack's hand on the small of her back. His heart trips a little in his chest when his eyes catch on Jack's as they skim past. Jack gives him a quick smile, small and reassuring. He returns it, hoping he doesn't look as nervous as he feels.

He can do this.

He refocuses on Andrew, tries to ignore the fact that Camilla is in a low-cut, slinky gown that has even Ransom and Holster sneaking glances at her cleavage. Tries to ignore the fact that he's going to have to spend the next two to three hours socializing with the man he's in love with while said man is on a date with a woman who is wearing _that_.

The group starts making its way across campus, chatting amongst themselves. He's not sure if the fact that Camilla is sweet and friendly and funny makes it all better or worse.

He tries to keep his attention on Andrew as much as he can. He asks about Andrew's major (Biology—how Ransom met him in the first place), learns that he's premed and plans to be a psychiatrist. When it's time to talk about his major, Eric fumbles through some kind of embarrassing explanation of choosing American Studies for the food classes but having no idea what he might do with that later.

"Do you want to be a chef?" Andrew asks.

Eric laughs. "No, definitely not. Maybe a baker, but that involves getting up at God o'clock in the morning, so I dunno. I have a YouTube channel about baking, and if I could monetize that I'd be set, but I don't have near enough subscribers yet."

"That's so cool!" Eric glances at Andrew's eyes, bright and curious, and can tell that he means it. "What's it called? I'd love to watch sometime."

"Oh. Um." Eric's cheeks heat. He glances around at his other friends, all deep in conversation with their dates. Jack's shoulders are shaking as he laughs at something Camilla said. "I don't really—I kind of talk about personal stuff on it, too, so I don't really let people I know in real life see it. The team knows I have one, but as far as I know they've never seen it."

"Ah," Andrew says. "Understandable."

The conversation kind of dies out after that. Eric frantically searches for something else to talk about, if only to drown out the sound of Camilla telling a story about something that happened on the bus to a tennis tournament.

"Just so you know," Eric finally says, "the bar is set really low for you. My last Screw date barfed on my shoes, so if you can at least manage to aim for a bush or something you're already ahead."

Andrew laughs, and tells Eric a story about his freshman Screw date getting so drunk he couldn't remember who he came with. Thankfully, it's long enough to get them to the dance.

As they filter inside, their large group getting funneled down into one door, Eric bumps up against Jack, his right arm against Jack's left. Eric swallows down the wish that he could press closer. Jack just smirks down at him.

"Little late for checking practice, eh, Bittle?"

Eric shoves him, snickering, through the door.

Thankfully, the DJ puts on Queen Bey as soon as their group is within sight of the dance floor, giving Eric the perfect reason to grab Andrew and drag him out to dance. Not that he needs dragging; he's nearly as eager as Eric.

Eric manages to spend three songs paying attention to his date and not the crowd around him or any ridiculously gorgeous hockey captains that crowd might contain. 

Then Andrew suggests they take a break to get a drink, and who should they run into at the punch table but one ridiculously gorgeous hockey captain and the beautiful and busty tennis captain he brought to the dance.

It seems like Camilla has 100% of Jack's laser focus, but the moment Eric enters his peripheral vision he looks over and his lips twitch into the ghost of a smile. Eric takes a deep breath and definitely doesn't gloat internally over the fact Jack has a Bittle Alarm that goes off as soon as he's within a particular distance. Camilla, seemingly unperturbed at the loss of attention, follows Jack's gaze and waves when she sees Eric and Andrew approaching.

"Y'all having fun?" Eric asks when they're close enough to hear.

Jack shrugs. "It's a dance."

"I maintain that it's not a _dance_ until I can get this one come _dance_ with me," Camilla says with a fond roll of her eyes, giving Jack's sleeve a little tug.

Eric scoffs. "Jack Zimmermann, you'd best take this lovely young lady out on the dance floor and show her a good time." He holds Jack's gaze as he says it. It's the most eye contact they've made all evening, and Eric steadfastly ignores any shivers it threatens to send down his spine.

Rather than immediately take Camilla to the dance floor, Jack tips his cup toward Eric and Andrew. "You guys looked like you were having fun out there," he says. He still hasn't broken eye contact with Eric, but that's not quite enough to cause Eric to miss the undercurrent of a chirp in his voice.

"Eric's quite a dancer," Andrew says, and Eric gives him a modest smile.

"You're not too bad yourself," he says, bumping Andrew's elbow with his own. "We should grab those drinks." He gives Jack a pointed look. "You. Go dance."

Jack mumbles something about "ganging up on me," but allows Camilla to pull him toward the dance floor.

When Eric and Andrew go back out, Eric carefully places them nowhere near the other couple. He's not masochistic enough to want to spend all night watching that little red dress moving against Jack's suit.

At some point Ransom, Holster, March, and April wind up dancing with them, and it's a lot of fun until Holster bends over and yells more loudly than necessary into Eric's ear, "Where are Jack and Camilla?"

Eric points vaguely in the direction he last saw them. Holster's height advantage must allow him to see a lot more of the crowd than Eric can, though, because after a moment of searching, he shouts halfway across the room, "HELL YEAH, GET IT, ZIMMERMANN!"

Eric clenches his jaw against the rock that suddenly lands in his stomach. Holster's just exaggerating; Jack wouldn't do anything unseemly in the middle of the dance floor, and Holster's probably just shocked to see Jack dancing at all.

But, of course, Holster has to lean over and yell into his ear some more.

"Looks like Jack's on his way to mad pussy tonight," Holster says, and Eric tries not to wrinkle his nose. "Camilla is _all up_ in his business. I think she'd let him fuck her in an empty room upstairs if he wanted. Hell, he could get to second base without leaving the dance floor, maybe further."

Eric just gives Holster a _look_. He hopes very much that that _look_ is more "please spare me from your over-the-top vulgarity" and less "please stop being vulgar about Jack and Camilla in particular because I very specifically do not want to think about them having sex." Whichever it is, it must work; Holster rolls his eyes but goes to bug Ransom instead.

Some of Andrew's friends join them, and Eric does his best to push Jack—and whatever business Camilla may or may not be getting all up in—out of his mind so as not to be a rude date.

Andrew is as good a dancer as Eric, and polite enough that Eric's business is never really gotten all up in, or at least not enough to make him uncomfortable, which he appreciates. They take another break to get a drink, then stop and talk to the frogs for a bit.

When they get back to dancing, the floor is packed, but somehow people shift and move and suddenly Eric has a perfect view of Jack and Camilla ten feet away.

Either Holster was, in fact, exaggerating, or Camilla has calmed it down some, because sure she's having fun but she's not _all over_ Jack. For his part, Jack is clearly being a perfect gentleman with one hand at her waist. Eric is a bit surprised to see that Jack is not a terrible dancer at all. Not as good as Andrew, who's a bit closer now than he was earlier but keeping his hands to himself, but good enough that Eric can't help imagining himself in Camilla's place.

Then Jack looks at him over Camilla's head—not just looks around and happens to see Eric, no, he looks right up from Camilla to Eric like he knew exactly where Eric was. Eric's face immediately heats, but he doesn't look away. Neither does Jack.

Eric should feel guilty, staring at someone else while he's dancing with the guy he came with. But he's looking over Andrew's shoulder, where Andrew can't tell what he's looking at. And it's not like he's going to drop Andrew and go over to dance with Jack. He's got enough to feel guilty about as it is, so he pushes it down and lets himself have this. If his breathing gets a little heavier, well—he's dancing pretty hard.

The eye contact continues for nearly a minute, until Jack's eyes start to take on a dark, heated look. Almost as soon as that happens, though, a half-drunk and giggly group of people stumbles into the space between them, and Eric can barely make out the bright red of Camilla's dress beyond them. Which is just as well, because that look was starting to do things to Eric, and if it had kept doing things to him for too long it might start to do the kind of things Andrew could notice, and maybe mistakenly think were because of _him_. And Eric is not prepared to deal with that tonight.

He can't get the look on Jack's face out of his head for the rest of the night, though. Not while he's dancing, not when he goes to the bathroom and stays there for a few minutes to get some air and send some tweets, not when he gets back and he and Andrew hang out with Shitty and Lardo for a bit.

After a half an hour of not being able to get that look out of his head, he feels a hand on his shoulder. It's Jack, one hand on him and one on Shitty.

"I'm gonna head out, walk Camilla home."

Jack's hand slides from Eric's shoulder down over his back.

"Fuck yeah, brah, get it," Shitty says, holding out a fist that Jack does not bump.

"I'm just walking her home," he says. Now the tips of his fingers are scratching so, so lightly up and down across the back of Eric's suit jacket, driving him just a little crazy. It's all he can do to prevent a shudder from running down his spine. Nobody else seems to have noticed. "Her apartment is way off campus, it's not safe for her to go alone."

"Riiiiiiight," Shitty says with a grin and an exaggerated wink. Jack sighs and shakes his head.

"Have fun, Bits," he says, and his hand comes back up to squeeze Eric's shoulder.

"See you later," Eric says, pulling himself together enough to smile up at him. Jack gives him a smirk no one else can see and heads off. Eric watches as Camilla takes his arm. His stomach does a lot of complicated things as the two of them walk out the door, some pleasant, some not. He bites his lip and turns back to his date and friends.

Another half an hour later, things are winding down. Various remaining members of SMH are making their way toward the exit. Chowder, Nursey, and Ransom are nowhere to be found. Holster says some loud goodbyes as he prepares to take April home. Andrew is heading out with a few of his friends; Eric is relieved when he only seems to expect a hug. Finally, he, Dex, Shitty, and Lardo set out.

"I'm never letting Nurse set me up again," Dex grumbles as they head toward his dorm. "He only wanted me to go with Kayla so that her sorority sister would go with him."

"You didn't have fun with Kayla?" Eric asks. They'd seemed to be enjoying themselves when he saw them earlier.

"She's fine," Dex says angrily. "She's great. We'll probably hang out again sometime. She's also a lesbian."

Shitty snorts, and Lardo hits him.

"Why… didn't she go with a girl?" Eric asks hesitantly.

"Her girlfriend lives in New York," Dex says. "She legitimately thought Amanda was setting us up to go as just friends. Somehow Amanda missed the memo."

"Yikes," Eric says.

"I would've been fine going as friends," Dex continues. "It's fine, she's cool. I don't need to use a dance as an excuse to get laid instead of just a night to have fun with friends. But it's just embarrassing when I think one thing is happening and it turns out my date is there for a totally different reason."

Eric gives him a commiserating smile, trying not to let that wisp of guilt from earlier worm its way back into his stomach.

They leave Dex at his dorm and Lardo at hers, and he and Shitty make their way back to the Haus. He takes a few swigs from Shitty's flask along the way, but he's no more than tipsy by the time they get home.

The Haus is dark and silent when they enter and trudge up the stairs.

Shitty walks with Eric past his own door to peer at Jack's. There's no light coming from under it, no sound coming from inside.

"Just walked her home, my ass," Shitty says, waggling his eyebrows at Eric.

"Maybe he's asleep," Eric points out.

Shitty startles him by banging on the door. "Jack! You in there?" Shitty puts his ear to the door for a moment. "Not a sound," he declares triumphantly. "I told him there's nothing wrong with hooking up with an ex."

Eric nods, giving Shitty a tight smile as he bites the inside of his cheek.

Shitty saunters back to his own room, whistling even though he's too drunk to carry a tune. Eric opens his own door, but watches Shitty until he disappears into his bedroom.

Eric steps into his dark room and looks around. He toes his shoes off and sighs at the emptiness. At the complete lack of another person in his bed.

Then he pokes his head back out into the hallway and double-checks that Shitty's door is closed. He closes his own door quietly behind him, and takes two silent steps across the hall.

He carefully turns the knob of Jack's door and slowly pushes it open a few inches.

The room is dark, but the street lights outside filter in through the curtains. It's more than enough light to make out the contents of the room. Jack's empty bed, Jack's empty desk chair.

Eric opens the door enough to slip his body through, and looks around the door at the armchair behind it. A sliver of light from the window illuminates Jack's suit jacket thrown over the arm, his rumpled shirt, his loosened tie, his knees splayed out lazily where he's slouched in the chair, grinning up at Eric.

Eric can't help but grin back as he closes the door as softly as possible. Something about the way Jack is sitting there—hair mussed, neat clothes in disarray, spread out just for him—makes all the desire he's been pushing down all evening come roaring back. He pulls his own tie off as he climbs directly onto Jack's lap, his knees only just fitting in the chair around Jack's hips.

"You are ridiculous," he whispers as Jack's hands slide up his back. "You should've just waited in my room."

"More fun this way," Jack whispers back. "Shitty'll be passed out within five minutes; we won't have to be _that_ quiet."

He pulls Eric down into a kiss, not that he has to do much pulling. Their mouths fit together as perfectly as they always do, hot and wanting.

They've both been thinking about this—or trying not to—all evening, and it doesn't take more than a couple of minutes of wandering hands and shifting hips before Eric can feel them both getting hard.

"I hated that," he confesses into a kiss. "I trust you a hundred percent but I hated every minute of that."

Jack groans quietly. "I know. I know, Bits. Watching you with another guy…" He digs his fingers into Eric's ass and pulls him closer.

"At least he was wearing a suit," Eric can't help but point out. "I thought Camilla was gonna fall out of that dress."

Jack snorts a little too loudly, making them both freeze. But there's no sound from Shitty's room.

"So did Camilla," he explains. "She was bitching about it all night. Apparently the bra she had to wear with it was awful."

Somehow that makes Eric feel better. He knows Jack and Camilla are friends, and he's not generally jealous of Jack being friends with an ex—even an ex who can't know that Jack is taken. It's still a relief to know that she spent the evening complaining about her bra and not trying to lure Jack back into her bed.

Eric sighs and tips his head back as Jack nibbles down the side of his throat.

"At least Camilla knew we were going as friends," Jack murmurs into his skin. "Andrew actually thought he had a chance with you, and it showed."

"Really? I thought he was a perfect gentleman," Eric says, raking his fingers through Jack's hair. "He didn't try anything untoward, believe me."

"I still didn't like how he looked at you," Jack says, a hint of a pout in his voice. "Not that I can blame him." He picks his head back up and Eric goes in for another kiss, but Jack breaks it off after just a few seconds. "Hopefully by next year, at least our friends will know, so they won't insist on finding you a date."

Eric's breath catches. He blinks at Jack. "Next year?"

"Next year for Screw," Jack clarifies, as if that's the part that needs clarification.

Eric sits up a little. He runs a finger over Jack's collar and down to his first button, not looking Jack in the eye.

"You—you really… you'd want to still be together then?"

Jack freezes.

"I mean… Sorry. I know that's a long ways off. I shouldn't be talking about a year from now when it's barely been a month—"

"No, no." Eric looks up at Jack. Everything's suddenly shifted, his entire understanding of this relationship and what it might mean to Jack, what _he_ might mean. "Jack," he says slowly, voice barely above a whisper. "What I mean is… I thought—I assumed that once you leave, once you sign with an NHL team and go off to start your career—I didn't think you'd want to keep this then. I didn't think there was any way."

Jack's face softens, his anxiety melting away and being replaced by endless affection that Eric still isn't quite used to seeing there.

"Bits." He lays one hand on Eric's cheek, strokes his thumb over Eric's lips. "I mean, I can't promise we'll still be together then, I know that. But I don't want us to break up _because of_ my career. If you still want me then, I'll still want you. We'll figure it out."

It had come out of nowhere, this clandestine relationship, but at the same time had been building for weeks. As soon as they'd started up checking practices again this year, something felt different. Eric thought it was just that they were friends now, that he wasn't some wimpy freshman Jack was trying to whip into shape but a friend he was trying to help through a hard time. But no matter how many times he'd told himself that, there was still a niggling voice at the back of his head insisting there was something more going on.

They were laughing and goofing off after they finished one morning, Eric showing off and Jack trying to catch him. And then Jack did catch him, wrapped his arms right around him just a second before they ran into the boards. Suddenly he was squeezed between the boards and Jack, in Jack's arms, their bodies pressed closer than any check. He looked up as Jack looked down, and it was exactly like every movie Eric has ever seen—their faces closer than they could ignore; the moment, three heartbeats long, when either of them could pull away but neither of them did; the realization that this was really going to happen; and, finally, the kiss.

Jack had pulled away first, with a quiet, "C'mon, Bittle, let's get showered." Eric had wondered if that was it, if just as he was becoming friends with Jack he'd gone and messed up and and now they'd just be incredibly awkward around each other until graduation. Instead, Jack had bought him coffee afterward. Had suddenly been full of shy smiles and blushing cheeks and stares when he didn't think Eric would see. Eric's heart wasn't sure he could survive sweet, flirtatious Jack.

They didn't get a single moment alone together the rest of that day, but then Jack had slipped into Eric's room that night after everyone was in bed. To Eric's utter shock, Jack just climbed right into bed with him and kissed him.

"I'm sorry this has to be a secret," Jack had said.

"It's not your fault," Eric had said.

And in the month since, Jack has been a more affectionate and attentive boyfriend than Eric had ever imagined he could be—in private, of course. Eric realized only a couple of weeks in that he was in deep. He'd been falling in love with Jack Zimmermann for months and there was no going back. Even so, he'd always assumed that there was an expiration date. He'd accepted it. If Jack was destined to be his first big heartbreak, so be it—he'd take a few months with Jack over nothing.

Now, he nips at Jack's thumb. He lays his hand over Jack's and closes his eyes. Jack already gives him _so much_ and now Jack is offering _more_ and Eric is greedy enough to take it.

"We'll figure it out," he murmurs into Jack's palm, then takes Jack's hand and puts it back on his ass so that Jack can pull him in tight and they can kiss and grind against each other.

Which they do for a while, their suit pants barely restraining their erections, until Jack pulls back, panting. "Fuck, I'm gonna come in my pants, Bits."

That doesn't sound like such a bad thing to Eric—he briefly imagines the wet spot spreading over Jack's zipper and onto his shirt and has to restrain himself from rutting even harder and faster at the thought—but there certainly are better ways.

At some point in there, Jack already unbuttoned Eric's shirt, and Eric works to return the favor while simultaneously climbing off Jack's lap and out of the chair. It's awkward, but neither of them is willing to stop touching the other for a moment.

As soon as Eric is standing, Jack pulls him back in and mouths at his erection through the thin fabric of his pants, hungrily massaging the ridge of the head with his tongue. It's one of the most obscene things Eric has seen—and in a month of dating Jack, he's seen a few obscene things.

Eric whines and pushes Jack's head back, and Jack immediately reaches up to undo the pants. Eric allows it, but then backs up toward Jack's bed, fly hanging wide open, erection half out of his boxers.

"You get your ass over here," he says as he reaches the bed, just remembering to be quiet, "and you get your ass naked."

He pulls his pants off and watches as Jack stands and removes his own. Jack also strips off his boxer briefs, and then stands there for a minute, white button-down hanging open, cock in his hand. Eric sits down on the bed, leans back on his hands, and can only stare as Jack slowly strokes himself.

Jack's cock is as large as the rest of him, and Eric definitely found it a little intimidating at first, having no experience with erections beyond his own. He'd be lying if he said he doesn't still find it a little intimidating—they haven't gone there yet, but the idea of having all of that inside him freaks him out nearly as much as it turns him on. His hands and his mouth, though, he's figuring out, and when Jack gets close enough he doesn't hesitate to reach out and wrap his fingers around it, let them glide over the head, to lean forward and run his tongue over it.

He tugs Jack's shirt to the side. "Off," he mouths, then finds better uses for his mouth as Jack finally unbuttons his cuffs and removes his shirt.

Once they're both totally naked, Eric scoots back on the bed, moving toward the pillows. "C'mere," he whispers, and Jack crawls over him, kissing him and pressing him down.

"How do we—" Eric starts quietly. He's not sure how to ask about this. He knows if he can _have_ sex he should be able to _talk about sex_, but there are certain words and phrases that he's just had hammered out of him with Southern shame so hard he can't bring himself to say them unless he's really losing control. "If we _both_—y'know, both of us, with our mouths, at the same time…"

"Well, one of us is facing the wrong direction, to start," Jack says with a smirk. Eric rolls his eyes. But then Jack looks down at Eric's body more seriously, frowning with thought. "Since I'm so much taller, maybe… I should stay on top? Or on our sides? I've actually never done that before, but I guess it'd be kinda different with a girl anyhow…"

A little thrill goes through Eric's stomach at the idea that they're doing something _Jack_ has never done before. That's never happened. It shouldn't matter, really, but it does. He tries not to smile and fails.

"I guess try on our sides?" he says, sitting up.

"I can go down there," Jack says.

"Not without both of us moving to another part of the bed so your legs'll fit!" Eric points out, motioning to the pillows. Even Eric's legs will barely fit without some maneuvering.

They finally get comfortable, and _wow_. The first time Eric feels the wet heat of Jack's mouth around him while his own mouth is full of Jack's dick, he's glad his mouth is full to muffle his moan. His head is bent at a slightly odd angle, but he has a feeling this won't take long enough for either of them for it to get really uncomfortable.

He does his best to focus on his job. The first blowjob he gave Jack surely wasn't the best of Jack's life, but it got him off, and though it was less than a month ago Eric has spent that month eagerly honing his skills. The angle and position of his body are different, but even so, he knows he can make Jack feel good.

Jack, however, is doing his best to keep him distracted. It's enough to make Eric lose his rhythm repeatedly, occasionally forgetting what he's doing entirely and just lying there with a dick in his mouth trying not to make loud noises. Now and then, he notices, Jack pauses, too. Knowing he's having that effect more than makes up for a break in the movement.

The irregular rhythm keeps them from finishing too soon, and Eric loses track of time as they lie there, completely engrossed in each other. He almost doesn't want it to end.

Eventually, though, Jack makes a frantic sound. Then Eric feels the cock in his mouth thicken, so he's not taken by surprise at the pulse of come that spreads over his tongue. What does surprise him, though, is how Jack sucks even harder as he comes, trembling around Eric's cock, and how that plus the feel of his mouth being filled to overflowing suddenly pushes him over the edge.

He's really not sure how they both manage to stay quiet enough to not wake Shitty. If Jack's orgasm was anything like his (and it sure seemed to be), next time they do this Eric wants to be in a secluded hotel room somewhere where they can let loose.

There's not much to clean up, of course (aside from Eric's chin), but Jack produces a bottle of water from somewhere that they share. Soon they're snuggled down in Jack's bed. Eric is still a little amazed that he's had the chance to get used to the feel of Jack Zimmermann's naked body wrapped warm and secure around his own, but it's one of his favorite feelings.

"So…" He's not sure he should bring this up, but if Jack is serious about staying together, it'd be nice to know. They weren't even dating yet when Jack and Georgia Martin had bowled him over on the sidewalk, but he knows Jack's talked to her a few times since then. "How are the Falconers looking?"

Jack hums happily into Eric's hair. "Good. Very good. Obviously I don't know anything 100%, but I would be _really_ surprised if they don't give me an offer. They're courting me harder than anyone. Don't tell Chowder, but the only other team that I'm really confident about is the Sharks."

Eric's smile that bloomed when Jack started wilts a little by the end. "If you gotta choose between those two, those are, uh. Very… different teams." Teams in very different _states_.

"Bits." Jack tips Eric's face up toward his own. "I don't know where I'm going to get offers from. If the Falcs want me, it'd take a _lot_ for me to turn them down. But if I do wind up in San Jose, or wherever else, for whatever reason—we'll figure it out, okay? I won't give up that easy."

Eric gives him a small smile as his heart swells. "Me neither, sweetpea," he says, and curls up close to Jack's chest. It's a lot to think about—a secret, cross-country long distance relationship with the boy he's only been dating a month. But luckily, it's still a long way away.

—

The next morning, Eric slips out of Jack's bed before the sun is fully up.

Two hours later, he's woken by shouting across the hall.

"BRAH! When did you get back? I missed your walk of shame!"

"There was no walk of shame, Shits. I slept here last night."

"You are a bad fucking liar, Jack Zimmermann. You were nowhere to be found when Bits and I got home."

"I hung out for a little while, then came back here. I was asleep in my own bed by 2AM, I swear."

"Ahhhhh, you '_hung out for a little while_,' did you?" 

There's a sound that Eric thinks is Shitty pouncing on Jack and knocking him back onto the bed. Amused, Eric grabs his phone and starts tweeting.

"Oof! Shits, what the fuck?"

"DEETS DEETS DEETS DEETS!"

"I have no deets, man."

"Don’t give me any of that dumbass 'Zimmermanns don’t kiss and tell' bullshit."

"Shitty. Get OUT. Of my BED."

Eric snickers at the sounds of snuggling-turned-wrestling. Hearing Jack lie to Shitty only stings a little. Lying to a random boy he's pretending to go on a date with is one thing, but lying to their friends will never not hurt. He hopes that Jack is right about next year's Winter Screw.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm curious to know at what point you figured out what was going on. ;)
> 
> Dialogue at the end comes from [Bitty's Winter Screw '14 tweets.](https://omgeverythingplease.tumblr.com/post/148100639000/tweet-1-2-3-4-5-6)


End file.
